in my heart there swells a song
by theotherthompson
Summary: Harry presses the keys of the club piano without having to look at the sheet music, having done this song with the band so many times before. Instead he looks across the stage, past the bright lights. In the darkest corner of the club, a man with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up watches intently. WW2 AU. HPLV.


**AN:** QFLC Finals Round 1 entry. A day, late, but here nonetheless. My team, the Arrows, chose Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr/Lord Voldemort for the round. I am doing the pairing _Harry Potter/Tom Marovolo Riddle_ AKA _HPLV_. Prompts chosen were the setting _Paris_ , the _word count of 1000_ , and the word _ink_. (Prompts 2, 8, and 12.)

On another note, because the story is so short, a lot of things happen off screen, and Tom's personality is only really hinted at. Tom is not a good man here. He's manipulative and only really cares for himself - and by extension Harry. This is also set a bit before and during WW2.

The song used in the fic is "Aimer Avant de Mourir" by Sheila. While this song does say it was made in the early 2000's, it's actually based on a song by Georges Boulanger's "Avant de Mourir," which dates back to as early as 1926. The lyrics by Sheila indicate a lot of the things happening in between the lines in this fic. Translations for the song and the French used in this fic are in the author's notes at the bottom. (Regrettably, I had to use Google Translate. I apologize for any inaccuracies regarding language.)

Finally, the title of this story comes from the poem "The Gift to Sing" by James Weldon Johnson.

Total word count: 1000 (according to FFnet)

* * *

 **Paris. July 30th,1938.**

" _Quand tu as fait le vide,_ " Ginny croons into the microphone, " _au fond de toi._ "

Harry presses the keys of the club piano without having to look at the sheet music, having done this song with the band so many times before. Instead he looks across the stage, past the bright lights.

In the darkest corner of the club, a man with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up watches intently.

" _Tu peux donner._ "

He exchanges a glance with Hermione just as she does a complicated thing involving her bow on her violin that Harry can't name - sometimes he regrets only learning the piano - and tilts his head when she raises an eyebrow.

He glances back to the man in the back, catches his eyes. The man's eyes look red in the the dim lighting.

" _Un sens à ta vie._ "

* * *

 **Paris. March 18th, 1938.**

"Riddle," Harry says. "I thought you wouldn't be coming tonight."

Tom's waves a hand as if to dispel the thought, and then puts that same hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry doesn't miss the next note, if only because his body knows how to play this song even when he's not paying attention. Tom's cold fingers rest on the rabbit pulse of Harry's neck. Under his starched sleeve a tattoo pokes out, dark ink on pale skin.

"Another tattoo, Tom?" Harry says, his mouth clicking shut as soon as the name slips out between his lips. Tom smiles, smug and white-teethed.

"What's a tattoo artist without any tattoos, love?" Tom says, quiet enough that no one else hears.

Harry shakes his head, finishing the song. He shakes out his hands, aching from the long hours he's played, and nods at the rest of the band to come up stage and prepare for the song they perform every night as a warm up.

Tom clicks his tongue, knowing that he'll have to leave Harry soon. Even if the piano isn't on the tiny stage, it's right by it, and the owner doesn't like people hanging around to distract Harry when they're performing.

"Off you go, Riddle," Harry says. "You know the rules."

Tom frowns, his hand tightening on Harry's shoulder. "Come away from Paris with me," Tom says to Harry, low and urgent, instead of sitting at one of the tables.

Harry blinks at him. "Where's the usual lead up?" he asks, surprised by the directness - it wasn't Tom's style.

" _R_ _egarder les signes_ \- Hitler just annexed Austria, there's no time for lead ups. We need to get out of Paris before he comes for France."

Harry opens his mouth to respond, but Ginny's already counting them in, and so Harry turns back to his piano getting his hands into position over the ivory keys. Tom reluctantly withdraws.

Later, when Ginny sings, " _Alors tu sais que la vérité,_ " Harry looks over to Tom, who looks back with dark eyes, lips a thin line.

" _C'est d'aimer avant de mourir._ "

Harry looks away first, feeling his face flush.

* * *

 **Paris. July 30th, 1939.**

" _Cher,_ " Tom says, by the piano with his hand on Harry's shoulder again. This time he's bent down, looming over Harry to whisper. Every exhale is a warm of of air on the shell of Harry's ear. "Come away with me."

Harry frowns. "You know I can't," he says, but leans back against Tom anyway.

Tom sighs. His hand traces the curve of Harry's shoulder to rest on the back of his neck. " _M_ _on ami, vous pas venir avec moi? Je serai donc seul sans toi, cher._ "

"Using French with me is a dirty trick." Harry replies. It is. Harry can never quite speak the language like Tom or Ginny or Ron, despite having grown up with his ex-British soldier father and French mother in the outskirts of Paris itself. He's always been too much like his father, his mother used to say.

He feels Tom smile against the back of his neck. He's lucky that the club is mostly empty. " _Tu aimes ça, cher._ "

In the background, Ginny is singing quietly - the same song, her favourite song - as she braids Hermione's hair. " _Alors tu sais,_ " she sings, " _que pour exister._ "

Tom, having heard the songs enough times at the club, hums along for a bit. Then, together with Ginny, Tom sings the last line into Harry's ear. " _Il faut aimer avant de mourir._ "

He pauses, tilting his head to catch Harry's eyes. They look at each other for a moment before Tom's expression breaks into a small, thin smile. " _Mon amour._ "

* * *

 **London. June 14th, 1940.**

"I guess you were right." Harry says, voice muffled by the pillow he held in his hands. "That we needed to get away from Paris." He tries not to shiver from the cool air. He could feel goosebumps rising on his bare arms and back.

Tom hums, curled over Harry's back, feet up on the bed and dressed in loose cotton clothes. "Of course I was right, _amour,_ " he says absently. Harry is tempted to pick up the newspaper and throw it at him.

"The others that didn't come to Britain - " he begins, then yelps when Tom presses the ballpoint pen harder into the muscle of Harry's lower back.

"Don't think anymore of it," Tom advises.

Harry twists his head to scowl at him. "You didn't try to convince Ron and Hermione and Ginny to go to _Londres,_ " he scowls. "Why not?"

Tom straightens up from his hunched position to properly look a Harry. "Because they weren't you," he answers, then goes back to his drawing on Harry's back.

Harry frowns, but looks away. Tom doesn't comment on the fine tremble that wracks Harry's frame.

They're not from the cold.

* * *

 **AN:**

 ** _Translations (in chronological order, lyrics with *):_**

 _*Quand tu as fait le vide_ \- when you have once emptied yourself

 _*Au fond de toi_ \- in your heart of hearts

 _*Tu peux donner_ \- you will find

 _*Un sens à ta vie_ \- meaning in your life

 _Regarder les signes -_ look at the signs

* _Alors tu sais que la vérité_ \- so you will come to this conviction

* _C'est d'aimer avant de mourir_ \- to love before dying

 _Cher_ \- dear (form of endearment)

 _Mon ami, vous pas venir avec moi? Je serai donc seul sans toi, cher._ _-_ My friend, will you not come with me? I will be so lonely without you, dear.

 _Tu aimes ça, cher_ \- You like it, dear

* _Alors tu sais_ \- So you will come to know

* _Que pour exister_ \- that to really live

* _Il faut aimer avant de mourir_ \- one must love before dying

 _Mon amour_ \- my love

 _Londres_ \- London


End file.
